Shorts-off (Books 1-3)

˃˃˃ Lady Alene and the Widower (Shorts-off #1)

Lady Alene, a professional companion, comforts a disparaging widower who tries to conquer his sexual urges with someone who won't contend with his dead wife. Lucky for him, Lady Alene knows what a man needs and bares all for her client's recovery.

...How long is too long to put-off dealing with the pain of loss?...

˃˃˃ But For You, Yes (Shorts-off #2)

Aren't you curious?

Andre wants to tell his girlfriend how he REALLY likes it. After revealing his secret desire Melonie isn't so convinced she'd like sex that way. It takes all of Andre's control and finesse to convince Melonie butt-love can feel good~for both parties.

...Would you be willing to try something new or scary for love?...

Find out how Melonie deals with this very question in the second Shorts-off Sexcapades!!

˃˃˃ Cougar Bait in the Coffee Shop (Shorts-off #3)

Kalyan, nearly twenty years younger than his would-be lover, would do anything to become Satomi's cougar bait. Including but not limited to: meeting her on her own terms, dying his hair, aging his face with make-up and being the subject of a little PDA.

Satomi is actually resistant to the idea of dating a younger man, but Kalyan finds a unique way to get around her nervousness of their generation gap and proves that maturity isn't hindered by age.

Cougar Bait is in praise of older women and revolves around the social taboo of age difference.

Excerpt

Lady Alene:

Reluctantly, I resign myself and chalk this moment off to weak will-power. Footfalls that couldn't be mine, but were, land heavily upon each step. Trying to talk myself out of this "appointment" inflicts cruel tricks. My heart is at the bottom of a cold ocean, but my body responds with erotic need. Arousal betrays my thoughts for any passer-by. They only need look below my belt.

Ascending the stairs extracts a price on my soul. Frustration comes out to emasculate me, so I stop the upward climb and lean against the wall. Both hands hide my shame. I heave a sigh that comes out in shudderingwaves. Justifications don’t lighten my heart. The ones that claim I can pretend it's her. This session will be a release. I will solely think of her, not the woman I bought out of desperation. But the lie is an invisible hand crushing my guts.

Fourteen months ago, I buried my soul, my wife of fifteen years. I miss her; she was my life, my only love. The screech of tires and the sickening sound of metal folding in on itself still hauntmydreams. Part of me believes she’ll come back. My beautiful Tasha, with long blond curls and piercing blue eyes. Gone.

I force the tears away. She is not coming back. But my young, fit body retains needs only a loving woman can fulfill.

“A loving woman.” My tone and mockery echoes down the cascade of stairs. What was Lady Alene then?

Whore, half of me answered. The other half…didn’t answer. Not with words. I’m not the deceiving type. Taking a bar fly home would relieve certain stresses, but the guilt of using a woman in place of my wife wouldn’t set my morals at ease. Nor would the hypothetical bar fly like to be used as a stand-in.

Funny how morals can get convoluted by desperation. Straightening and breathing a sigh, I continue up the stairs. Lady Alene awaits.

I knock twice on the second door to the right. A mocha beauty greets me in nothing but a black bra, panties and an open silk robe. Air escapes my lips when she smiles at me, the kind of smile a cat gives when it’s about to pounce on cornered prey. Her fiery gaze tells me to come in while she backs away and holds the door.

She is perfect.

She is not my deceased wife and just what I need.

I take one step through the threshold and into an oasis of a penthouse. She closes the door and takes my hand leading me further into the island retreat. An ocean surf breeze tumbles in from the open sliding glass door on the opposite side of the room. Plush leather furniture accent high ceilings and dead artist's paintings.

She bares an expression going from mischievous Goddess to sadness, and then a frown. Exposed, naked in her gaze, I could not look away from her dark eyes. I try to stifle my sigh, but it comes out involuntarily. After undergoing Lady Alene’s scrutiny, she raises a hand and touches my face.

“Would you like something to drink?" Her voice is deep with a breathless accent. A native to some island, I’m sure.

I nod, not trusting my voice to remain steady.

The dark lovely glides over to an alcove and returns with an open brown glass bottle. My favorite. Bass.

I sip the beer and slide fingers through my short brown hair. Her expression is now soft and inviting. Again, I avoid conversation and take a pull from my drink.

She parts her lips as if to say something, but doesn’t. My eyes rake over her dancer’s body.

When our eyes meet again, her expression turns to itsoriginalmischievousness. "Some men like to talk before. Some would rather not. Others like to go out. Many prefer to stay in. Every man’s needs are different. What's your pleasure?"

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